Masquerade
by Lady Merlin
Summary: Life is a Masquerade-more so for Draco then for anyone else. Only he hadn't really realised it, until an Angel told him so. Good!Draco. DracoxHermione in the Epilogue.
1. Masquerade

That one hour pretty much summed up my life

That one hour pretty much summed up my life. It was one hour or sixty minutes or god-knows-how-many-seconds. I don't care. But it summed up my life, and it wasn't even me! When I got back to my room, I felt a rock on my chest. I couldn't breathe. I can't believe that I'm seventeen and my life is nothing but a Masquerade, and I didn't even know until I was told.

I'm not one for poetry, but there was something about the night. Something about they quality of the air and the light of the moon. I had never felt quite that way before—the air was so _crisp_ that it felt like a slap and it woke me up though it hurt to breathe.

We were having a Masquerade ball—our last in Hogwarts. I hadn't really bothered with a fancy costume. I had decided against wearing a neon green skin tight body suit covered in glitter, like Zabini. He looked like a freaking clown. All he needed was the tri-coloured hat with bloody pompoms and juggling balls. I had just worn a regular black suit, and a mask which my mother gave me.

No, I do not come from a freakish family where they give their kids masks—they're freakish for entirely different reasons. But my mother heard that I would be attending a Masquerade ball, and she'd sent me this mask (without my father's knowledge, I feel) and a note, which said that it had belonged to her grandfather many years ago, and he'd used it at the ball where he'd met her grandmother.

Many people would have taken it as a gift and been happy, but I saw it for what it was—a warning that I'd have to chose my bride soon. I let myself slump. I just felt so tired because of all the pressures they put on me. I just felt like I had to prove something. I don't know. I just had to.

The mask, returning to the original matter, was as beautiful as things came. I could tell from its craftsmanship that it came from Venice. It was a crafted porcelain piece, white in colour, with silver and black streaks and edged in glitter. It fit me perfectly. Either I looked like my great grandfather, or this, like so many other Malfoy belongings, was magical. I hoped sincerely it wouldn't suck my face off. I doubted my mother would do that—she needs me to form 'ties with other pure-blooded families'. In her words, I swear.

Either way, I went downstairs early, and no one saw me leave. I was pretty sure of my anonymity. I really didn't want to go. It wasn't disregard for orders. Not entirely, anyway. I was just that I had better things to do with my time, which I had a feeling would be limited. I had an idea that I'd play an integral role in some screwed up plan of my fathers. Blood sacrifice, probably.

Whatever the case, the hall crowded pretty fast. I would have blended in if I hadn't been taller than most of them, and if I hadn't been wearing such a different mask. Apart from Zabini of course, but he's a different story. Pansy (I knew her for her voice) was wearing a ridiculous bird mask in gold and scarlet and I choked into my drink, laughing.

Around five minutes into the ball, I saw a beautiful lady, all alone in the centre of the floor. Something about her, as implacable as the night itself, drew me to her. I was by her side, and I offered her my free arm and she accepted, perhaps seeing in me what I saw in her.

She was wearing a midnight blue gown, so dark it was almost black. It fit her like a glove till her hips and exploded out in a way which totally didn't suit the somber velvet of the bodice, if I'm making sense. Her dark brown, gold tinted hair cascaded down her back in rich glossy curls. Her mask was interesting. It was from Venice too. It covered both her eyes and the left half of her mouth, like a butterfly, kind of. It was white, and splashed with every bright colour imaginable. Attached, were accompanying feathers and it made her face the centerpiece as her dress melted into the background.

Smart girl.

"Hi."

"Hey."

It was blissful silence. He knew, and was sure that she knew, they couldn't dance for the sake of the blasted masks they were holding on sticks. He dropped the gentleman façade and held her hand, and led her to the gardens. They sat on a small bench in a corner.

"Draco," she said confidently, and he was stunned to the point of almost dropping his mask.

"How do you know me?" he demanded.

She laughed. "Your hair, your eyes. No one has quite the same in our school."

He had to admit she was right. "So… D'I know you?"

She nodded. "You know my name, but I don't know if you know me."

He sighed and leaned back, placing his mask beside him. He didn't care.

"Draco, I need to tell you something. I may seem presumptuous and unjust because I don't know you personally, but it's something I feel."

"Okay?" he asked more than replied.

"Okay, I know the whole Death Eater thing isn't—"

"Who said I'm a Death Eater? Bloody Liars!" He yelled in panic.

She rolled her pretty honey eyes, and replied, "Don't bother. I know. I'm not telling anyone. I know the whole thing isn't what you want. I know that you've been forced into it—the initiation, the rites, the ideas, everything. I just need you to know, you're not alone. No one's alone. Maybe no one's seen what you've seen, or been through the same as you, but you're not alone. We've all had to do things we don't want to—no don't protest, it doesn't make you any more of a man—we don't want to do, and we might be held responsible for our actions, but we're human. We're only human. What I'm trying to say, is that you can be forgiven."

There was silence.

He took a breath, and spoke; "Thank you," aware that his voice was almost feverishly grateful. She'd said what he'd needed to hear for a long time. It was like her words made perfect sense to his tormented mind, and soothed them like a salve.

"Have you ever felt like your whole life was a masquerade?" she asked, after a moments silence. He didn't know what to say, but she didn't seem to notice. "Like no one shows who they really are, and everyone's just wearing masks that don't let anyone see what they're feeling, or thinking?" she finished, gazing at the stars.

"Yeah," he said and she seemed to be startled out of her thoughts. "Like you're just trying your level best to be what everyone expects you to be, and wants you to be and you never get a chance to be who _you_ want to be, or the show who you really are." He felt breathless, like he'd never even thought of it until she prompted him.

"And everyone's just dancing around each other in pretty clothes and stabbing people behind masks, not sure of who they're really killing, and no one knows who did it either, or why." He nodded.

She smiled at him, in a way that was somehow familiar—like he'd known her his whole life.

"We should go," she said quietly.

He agreed, not trusting himself to speak with the weight of the revelations of the evening.

She made to stand up, and he got up infront of her and extended his hand to help her. It was the least he could do to thank this girl, this Angel, _his_ Angel for shining a light where he thought there'd been none.

She accepted his hand and they walked. "We shouldn't be seen going in together," she said, "everyone knows who you are. They'll just give you trouble."

He nodded. She made to walk in but he didn't let go of her hand. "Wait." She turned to regard him. "Thank you," he whispered and kissed her hand. "You don't know what you've changed. Thank you," and he let her go.

She blushed and looked down, before whispering, "Don't let anyone tell you who to be. Be everything you truly are, and people will love you," and moving away quickly. He followed a short while after and went straight to his room. He didn't feel like being around people now. He just needed to think.

So here he was, stone on heart, thinking. Free but not knowing it, full to the brim with pain and the knowing that no one would remember him with fondness if he died tomorrow.

His life meant nothing.

But his Angel. She'd said he could be forgiven. Could she be right? Why hadn't he asked her who she was? Why hadn't he kept her? Could he possibly find her again? He needed to talk to her. But Angels are like that, you know. You get their help when you least expect it, but when you want it, you can't find them, because you don't really need them anymore.

Yo people. Belated Disclaimer: I own nothing. Neither Draco, nor his Angel. His Angel is Hermione Granger, By the way. (Waits for shocked silence) Oh wait. Damn. Technical Error. Anyway, you can 'shocked-silence' me via review. :D

Love,

Lady Merlin

P.S. will has sequel.


	2. Epilogue

A/N: Takes place a good ten years down the road. Hermione is **NOT** dating Ron.

Disclaimer applies: I own naught.

Note: context is that of post-war. Draco helps Harry because of Hermione's counsel and is hailed as a hero alongside a whole bunch of other people who've helped in numerous indispensible ways. Only problem is there's a faction of vengeful people on Harry's side who want revenge on all those who were on the other side and since both Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy are dead and no one remains in the Malfoy line except Draco, they accuse him.

The back-log of justice in a war can last for a long time. Example: Rwandan Genocide. Murderers were still being tried and convicted twenty to fifty years down the road by the UN International Criminal Court. It's perfectly feasible that Draco be pulled out of a peaceful existence ten years down and convicted of murders his parents committed.

Fic starts Here.

Draco sat on a bench, beside his lawyer, rubbing his eyes. His stunning charm and looks hadn't faded but he looked exhausted. The case had taken a lot out of him. Today was the day the verdict would come out. His heart hadn't stopped pounding since the night before. He felt light headed and giddy. He could do nothing but pray.

He looked out amongst the people who were following his highly controversial case. Potter hadn't turned out. He'd been hoping that maybe—just maybe he'd vouch for him but… Oh who was he kidding? He resigned himself to whatever was coming.

"Before the Jury collects its votes, I'd like to ask as the Judge and distributor of Peace in this court if anyone else would like to speak for or against Mr. Draco Malfoy to sway the Jury's votes. Has anyone been left out? Remember, Mr. Draco is not his father. It has been proven by Harry Potter himself that his father and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named held him in their control under dire consequence of harming his mother." There was silence.

"Voldemort," came a clear voice from somewhere in the court room. There was uproar.

"Silence!!" The judge roared. "Repeat yourself, only if it is of use to this trial."

"Call him Voldemort. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself. I vouch for Draco." It was a girl, but his mind was overloading trying to figure who it was, and where he'd heard it before.

"Who are you?" the judge asked.

Someone stood up. They were dressed in a long dark cloak, hood covering face. She lifted the hood, and his mind went blank as she said, "Hermione Granger."

He whispered to himself, "_impossible,_" but there she was. People were getting to their feet in respect and young men and women were appraising her appearance as elder men and women appraised her countenance. He was saved.

The People who had never expected such a famous figure in their midst, who had never expected to see, let alone witness the great Hermione Granger. Everyone knew she was synonymous with Harry Potter—she had been with him even when his best friend had left him. She had been through thick and thin. Voldemort would never have been defeated if not for her intelligence. The Jury was swayed the moment she put her vote in for Draco.

Momentarily, in the uproar, Draco fell to his knees and sent up a prayer. He'd never really been religious but there was no harm. The only thing left to figure out was why she'd helped him.

The case was over in half a breath and he was free to go. He hugged his lawyer and ran after the rapidly moving cloaked figure of Hermione Granger. Unfortunately he didn't catch her. He wouldn't accept that—she had to know how much he appreciated it. She was like an Angel.

Suddenly, memories of that last ball in Hogwarts. It just clicked together. She was _his _Angel—the very same. It was like finding something sane and beautiful in a world where everything was crazy and ugly.

He racked his mind. Where did she work? Oh yeah! She was an Auror. He could find her there. He wasn't an Unspeakable for nothing.

The very next day, he went to a florist, bought twelve red roses and made his way to the Auror head office. He was stopped at the receptionist. "Hey," he grinned and she looked stunned. He was glad he still had it. "Hey," he repeated, "can I get in and see Hermione Granger?"

"Why?" the receptionist—Lisa asked.

"She stood up for in court yesterday. I just want to thank her."

She smiled. "Sure, I'd let you, but she isn't in right now. She'd out in the field."

He frowned. "Oh. Well, Lisa, d'ya mind keeping them here and giving them to her for me? She'll be back today right?"

"Yeah, but don't you want to leave a note?" the girl asked. She could practically see a future in which tiny little Grangers were running around, with this man's beautiful eyes.

"Oh, yeah, shit. Just hang on, I'll get a paper."

"Don't worry. I have some." He rewarded her with another bright smile.

He scribbled a note and she just read it upside down.

He'd pinned it to the flowers and smiled brightly before running off. She hadn't had the chance to ask who this beautiful, charming man was. Hermione Granger had only stood up for one man, Draco Malfoy. Surely this wasn't him? He was so charming!

Later on…

Hermione returned to her office covered in mud. Daphne Greengrass laughed and came over to lend her some clothes.

Over the low door, she could just see Lisa the receptionist winding her way through the maze of cubicles with a bouquet of red roses. She sighed. She was happy for whoever got them—they weren't alone.

Suddenly, there was a knock, and she called for the person to come in. He was stunned. It was Lisa. She was heralded by the heavenly scent of roses.

"Hey 'Mione!"

"Hiya Lisa. Who're they for? They're beautiful!"

"They're for you of course!" Lisa exclaimed, laughing.

"Me? From whom?" she demanded.

"If deductive skill are contagious and I've got some from being around all of you, they're from Draco Malfoy."

"Draco?"

"Oh, we're on a first name basis, aren't we?" Lisa smirked—a foreign expression on her face.

Hermione felt herself blushing. "Long story."

Lisa grinned, happy. "I'll bet it is." Hermione deserved it. She was always so nice to everyone. She wouldn't be surprised if Malfoy had been in love with her for a long time, along with Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter.

Hermione touched the flowers and felt a note. She took it out.

_You shattered my Masquerade. _

_Thank you. _

_Love,_

_Your Mortal._

Definitely Draco. She grinned. How could he have remembered after so long? How did he even know it was her? Oh well.

Draco came in the next day and was informed by a smug Lisa that she was overjoyed. He sneakily asked her if Hermione was single, and she replied yes. His face had lit up like a candle and Lisa had thought it worthwhile. As he was _bounding_ out of the lobby, he slammed into someone, sending papers crashing to the ground.

"Sorry!" he exclaimed and together they bent down to pick them up.

"It's okay," she said after they'd stood up, and he froze.

"Hermione!" He whispered and she looked up, stunned at the sound of emotion in his voice.

They stood there in the lobby, on shiny marble floors and stared at each other. Hermione didn't understand how she'd never seen this in Draco. Never expected that he could be so passionate. Before either of them knew what was happening, he'd swept her up into a kiss and she dropped her papers and kissed back. Lisa just watched dreamily.

It was surprising how knowing what a person was, or rather knowing what a person was not could teach you so much.

Well? REVIEW!!

Postscript of Epilogue

Harry strode into the lobby of the Auror office, and spinned and walked straight back out and leaned against a wall. He held out a hand and stopped Ron from walking in. "You really don't want to," he'd whispered. Ron had gone in anyway and he'd come back similarly.

"Ew. Ew on a million levels."

Harry just laughed. Hermione had been alone too long. She deserved it.


End file.
